Friday, October 21, 2016

Thunderclap resounding over parched earth
Promises of a torrent that soaks into cell micro worlds
Earth aromas ripe with expectation
And secret colors tint the green, where buds are poised to spasm open

Amorphous rain droplets sway
over cloudy precipice
hope and expectation seem to morph this way
Awaiting that change in physical elements
causing a free fall onto the earth

Nourishing earth nourishing sky
promise and oneness carried to the heart
Just for a while before umbrellas and distrust
shield what the heart from what it knows.

Monday, April 11, 2016

Mini-Baby is supposed to go to school now. He's asleep on the sofa. Snug as a bug in a rug. It is gray outside with occasional spatters of rain. Droplets reaching earth, soaking into it and bringing some message from the heavens about grounding myself. The present is being nurtured. In ways that I can't yet see.

The poem that I wrote some days ago captured some of what I feel. A disconnectedness that runs deep. Nothing that I chose, but certainly something that hit me when I was busy living my life as a teen. So much has happened since those early years. My insides were in a constant twist, and every action an attempt to make it and keep it real. A true case of fake it till you make it.

The simplest things seem to help me these days though. Just noticing everything. Being solidly anchored in the present...as in...never leave a moment to drift away...never allow an errant thought unrelated to crop up. And mostly, a stern voice that I listen to...one that tells me never to allow thoughts that spiral into a vortex of hopelessness.

Being in the present seems to return a lot of energy. Much that I thought I didn't have. It was there all along for the taking. I just couldn't stay long enough to recharge.

Grounded as the trees that live for centuries...not that I want to. But that is where they get their strength from. The earth itself.

Saturday, April 2, 2016

Detachment is good they say.
Oh to feel anchored in the moment!
Life like the pages of a book...grey pictures and sudden

*Image

startling color...missed because
Even sensations are perceived through opacity.

Neither foothold nor memory
allow a satisfying measure of belonging.
The flow of time ceased
and life's movement is merely seen as though
one appears in many movie frames
all at once.

Would I know when the movie is over?
Would it feel the same?
Thought and feeling through opacity
Photons of light illuminate everything but
why and how to remove
that shield that allows just
half a life.

Pain is distant
and I am not me
Love abundant
yet un-absorbable
Knowledge waiting
to be claimed but how can one?
Locked in yet unmoored,
Neither here nor there.

Monday, March 28, 2016

Love, compassion and humanity are a two way street. One cannot pour shining light into a dark void that incinerates all that gives life meaning. One cannot make excuses for a void...a void exists, and the light that it devours greedily lies within...the only way it can free itself would be to give back...give back the light, illuminating what lies within.

Who dare demand that more light be given to those who willingly live in the dark void? If the only goal of life is death, how can life be?

The only answer is to
leave them alone. They are not ready for your particular light. Your particular hope, and your particular point in time. They will leave when they are ready. They will receive all there is without you...and the void will be less strong then.

Thursday, January 28, 2016

I have to add a new wish to my wishlist. This one could possibly be the most self indulgent one of them all. Yes, I know the world is falling apart. And that I ought to keep the frivolity where it belongs. But, but...when you have a steam room experience like I did, you might understand.

A good friend took me to through this experience. She "who is bold and brave" first insisted that underneath the white fluffy towel that preserved modesty, only the birth suit need be present. I "who view the world from behind whatever is in front" refused to let go of my underthings.

"They are going to get soaked." she said.

"I can't!" I squeaked as she shook her head and marched toward a door with tinted glass.

*Image 1

I shuffled back to the lockers, barefoot and completely embarrassed. As I tried to do a "flashdance"-esque divestment of underthings, two women floated over to the neighboring lockers, chattering away. They gave me a once over as I focused on holding the edges of the towel between my teeth. I tried not to move too much, lest the towel flaps reveal flabby hairpin curves.

I scurried out, glad to see my friend holding the door open with glee.

That first hit...aaaah!!! I think I said, "I see!!!" and then, "Actually I don't..." because my glasses fogged over. She had set the steam on high so that the entire room had warm mist tinged with alpine scents soaking into everything.

I had a moment of panic thinking that maybe I couldn't breathe. But no, I could breathe easier and all that steam seemed to have the effect of a massage without touch. We talked and talked...and I occasionally forgot my train of thought. Pine-y, mentholated steam came in from all over and I wish I'd been brave enough to allow all of me unrestricted access to that steam. Some day when I feel brave and bold. But that is for another time.

So my wish is to have a steam room in my house, where ever that will be. With jets and nozzles lining the walls...no lock on the door so I don't panic, and ledges just the same as in the magical steam room I had the opportunity to use. I'd take my body brushes and a big fluffy towel, and just veg out. No need for those glasses. I'd peer into warm steam and celebrate the here and now in a completely unique fashion. I mean, what does one do if one can't look past the steam? Give up happily I suppose.